A Ghost Tour of the Grand Theatre

By Pamela Winning

My friend and I had visited the Grand Theatre many times. We’d laughed and cried and sung our way through lots of productions over the years. We didn’t know what to expect when we booked our places on a Ghost Tour, but we were ‘up for it’ and arrived dressed for warmth, carrying torches and giggling like nervous schoolgirls.

We were part of a small group, taken round by an informative guide. He fascinated us with his knowledge of the theatre’s history and renovation. He took us backstage, where, in one of the dressing-rooms, I had a feeling of being unwelcome. We went on to the stage where my friend and I sensed different things. She became lightheaded; I experienced a sudden, sharp headache. Both of us were perfectly fine when we stepped down from the stage.

After the guided tour, we were left in the semidarkness to wander around or sit in the theatre. At the back of the stalls, my friend was aware of a strong smell of cigar smoke. I have no sense of smell, so could only take her word for it. There was no explanation for the wafting of a curtain across a closed doorway. We watched our shadows on the wall. There was the shadow of a third person: but there was nobody else anywhere near us. We stood slightly apart and the third person was between us. We were sure that the man watching us from the dress-circle was not from our group.

Later, the group sat together at the front of the stalls. The guide listened to our reports and told us things he’d been keeping to himself until this point in the evening. Years ago, someone had an accident on stage which included a head injury. A past manager of the theatre used to stand at the back of the stalls smoking a cigar. Someone had fallen to their death from the gallery to the stalls. A particular seat in the circle gave the occupant the sensation of being shaken … this was something that happened to my friend when she’d gone to see a show. There was an area in the centre stalls where people felt someone tap their shoulder or grab their arm. This had happened to me sometime previously when I’d been to see a play and I knew it hadn’t been my imagination. The guide had no explanation to offer; he just said that many people at different times had mentioned it.

It was an interesting way to spend an evening. My friend and I were enlightened, but not scared. Fear came another time, on a Ghost Tour of the Spanish Hall. But that’s another story.